MTV and Shopping Malls
by Eileen
Summary: Sometimes the simplest things can bring people together. Like music. And sometimes music means more to someone than simply a song on the radio.
1. Pop Goes the World

When she heard the music drifting down the hallway, Natasha thought at first that someone's phone was going off. No, no one had "Pop Goes the World" as a ringtone. Maybe it was coming from outside.

She looked around for an open window, but all the windows were closed tightly to keep the air conditioning in. So where was the music coming from?

She thought about her teammates. Steve certainly didn't listen to anything written after 1950 or so. His tastes, when he could figure out how to work the CD player, ran mostly to big band or swing music, and occasionally show tunes. Nothing like this.

Tony? Probably not. He was more the edgy-rock type, not frothy bubblegum pop. Unless he was doing it to annoy someone, which he was uncannily good at.

She knew Clint too well to believe he had suddenly acquired a taste for this kind of music. He liked darker Euro metal, but only listened to it with headphones on.

And Thor didn't like much modern music at all. Most of what he listened to was cymbal-crashing orchestral symphonies, usually at full volume. Though she had caught him listening to Taylor Swift once. Rather than ask questions she didn't really want the answers to, she had left the room without saying a word.

So who was listening to what was now Duran Duran? "Hungry Like the Wolf" was one of her favorites; she found herself singing along under her breath as she made her way to the source of the music.

Science Lab B.

Maybe it was that Darcy girl who worked with Thor's girlfriend. No, she had been in the tower once, and she listened to Tori Amos and Fiona Apple and other Lilith Fair headliners. Couldn't be her.

She knocked once on the door, but the music was so loud that she wasn't sure she had been heard. She knocked again, louder. Still no answer.

"All right," she warned, "I'm coming in." She reached in her pocket for her lock picks, only to discover that the door wasn't locked. It turned smoothly in her hand before she could even begin to work.

Standing there with his back to her and striking what he probably thought was a sexy Simon LeBon pose was the last person she would have expected to listen to Duran Duran.

"Bruce?"

Upon hearing her voice, he jumped and hit the power button on the CD player. "Oh, Tasha. I didn't hear you come in."

"I **did** knock. Is this some sort of experiment?"

"What? Oh, the music? No, I . . . don't tell anyone about this, okay?"

She raised her eyebrows. "And why would I want to do that?"

He sighed. "Look, I had a really crappy childhood. The music was the only thing that kept me going. I wanted to be like the rock stars I saw on MTV. Instead of a skinny science nerd with an attitude problem."

She had to smile at that. "I'm not laughing at you," she said. "That sounds like me, growing up. I loved to listen to the American music. You remember the Go-Gos?"

"I had one of their albums. Had to sneak it into the house so no one would find it and call me . . ." He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

"I get the picture. I just never thought of you as the type to like that sort of music."

"What music did you think I liked?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . something more exotic, I guess, considering all the places you've been. Brazilian samba or African tribal rhythms or something like that."

"I have those on my playlist, too. But this is what I listen to when I'm feeling nostalgic. I had to burn myself a CD when the mix tape broke."

"I had tons of mix tapes! I used to record them off the radio with my little tape recorder."

"Hungry Like the Wolf" gave way to something by Elton John. "What happened to MTV?" she asked. "It used to be such fun! Now it's all teenage mothers and sex-crazed housemates. Where did all the fun go?"

"I couldn't tell you," he said. "I can't believe **you **like this music."

"I learned English from this music! Well, some of it. I wanted to come to America and meet all the rock stars. Pat Benatar. Cyndi Lauper."

"Joan Jett. Lita Ford."

"Who?"

"She did that duet with Ozzy."

"What duet?"

"Let me see, I think I have it here somewhere . . ." He rummaged through a bin and came up with a CD with "80's Disk 4" written on it in Sharpie. "It's on here, I think. It's a ballad."

"I like rock ballads."

He was looking at the inside of the case. "This is terrible—I can't read my own writing. I think this is it, track 3 It's called _Close My Eyes Forever_." He put it in the player and cued up the track. They listened to it in reverent silence.

_You think you know a person, _she thought. _I know we haven't exactly been best buds, but I thought I had him figured out. Boy, was I wrong._

"That's pretty," she said, when the song was over. "I never heard it before."

"Want me to make you your own copy?"

"Oh, no, you don't have to—"

"It's no trouble at all. I'll have it for you tomorrow. Come down here and it'll be ready."

"Thanks."

They shared a knowing glance. It was nice to have a secret that was just for the two of them. It was also nice to get a glimpse into someone's past, to see the person he had been that made him what he was now.

"I've met rock stars," she said. "They're just people. It was something of a letdown, really."

"The fantasy is more fun," he agreed.

"You know what's funny?"

"What's that?"

"Somewhere, there are little boys and little girls who dream of coming to meet **us**. We're their rock stars."

"I never thought of it that way," he said. "Guess I'll have to brush up on my air guitar."

"I'll jam with you anytime."


	2. I Love Rock 'N Roll

Everything was ready.

Bruce rechecked his equipment, and found that it was in perfect working order. Good. He was just waiting for Natasha to arrive before beginning. Couldn't do it without her. Well, he **could**, but it wouldn't be as much fun.

Where was she, anyway? She said she'd be here in time; unless something was holding her up, she should be here. He resisted the urge to pace back and forth, settling for tapping his fingers on the edge of the lab table. Two-oh-nine: where was she?

Finally, at two-sixteen, she rushed in. "Sorry I'm late. Got . . . held up at the bank."

"That's okay. It's all ready. Where did you want to start?"

"The beginning's a good place. What's on the first page of your little book?"

He opened it and flipped past the introduction. "Oh, this is a good one." And he showed her.

"I like that one. Mind if I take the lead?"

"Fine with me. I'll take the next one. Ready?"

"Ready."

And he turned on the tape machine, and the opening bars of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" filled the small room. He thought she'd like this song. It was why he'd picked this tape out of the (admittedly small) selection in the secondhand store where he'd found it. Most regular stores didn't sell cassette tapes anymore, so he had to comb the consignment shops and flea markets for old cassettes. On his last trip, he'd seen the Karaoke Time tapes, and had actually bought two. The other one could wait for another time.

Right now, she was singing, and he was grooving, getting down in a way he would never let anyone else see. When the song was over, they switched places, and he sang "Sunglasses at Night" while she shimmied her hips in front of him.

After their rendition of "I Love Rock 'n Roll" (she sang lead, he took backing vocals), they heard the sound of two hands clapping.

Two hands belonging to the person who owned this place, in fact.

"That was pretty good," Tony said. "So this is what you two have been sneaking away for! I thought you were having a fling."

"Didn't I lock that door?" Bruce asked. He looked at Tasha, who shrugged.

"I came in after you did."

"And I locked it behind you. Didn't I?"

"I thought you did."

"You did," said Tony. "I have this little thing called a master key. In case of fire, if we have to get everybody out of the building? That kind of thing. I was curious about what you two were up to in here, so I snuck in while you were . . . um, busy."

Natasha gave him her patented Look of Steel. "Didn't the music give you a clue?"

"I thought you had it on to cover up the . . . other noises." He walked over to the tape player and opened the little door. "Karaoke Time? I thought you hated karaoke, Beebster."

"This isn't karaoke. This is just us, singing, to a backing track."

"It says it right on the label. Where did you even find tapes in this day and age?"

"Grandma's Attic. It's a consignment shop. They have everything."

"Uh huh. Those places are like big yard sales-full of other people's junk, that they get rid of for a reason."

"Their loss is our gain. Come on, you know you want to. I think 'Crazy Train' is on the other tape."

Tony just shook his head. "So you two have been sneaking away to . . . what? To sing along with the hits of the Eighties in an empty lab? No. No, this is no good at all."

Bruce couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're saying we can't do this anymore?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. The acoustics in here are terrible. And it's not even soundproofed! That's how I found you. Now come with me, and I'll show you something that'll knock your socks off."

"I'm not actually wearing socks."

"Well, whatever. Come on." He grabbed the tape player on his way out, and the others followed him.

They made their way to a room on the other side of the building, a door that was completely black-no name plate, no number, nothing. Tony's key worked on this door; it swung open, and he led them inside what looked like an explosion in a Day-Glo factory.

"This is my Eighties room," he explained. "I come here when I'm feeling nostalgic. It used to be an old music room, but I spruced it up a bit. State of the art sound system, speakers all over the room, every song recorded between 1980 and 1990 loaded into the music library. Over here-" He pointed across the room-"is our video wall. Eighteen monitors, with continuously-looped clips from movies, TV shows, music videos, even commercials of the era. On this wall are posters of all the popular bands, including this one."

The poster in question was of a four-piece rock band performing in jackets and skinny ties, in what looked like a small club. "The band was called the Skull Kickers. Sometimes one word, sometimes two, sometimes hyphenated. They were pretty well-known in the Boston/Cambridge club scene from about 1984 through '86, when this guy here-" he tapped the lead guitarist-"got too big for his britches. The resulting ego clash broke up the band."

"That's you, isn't it?" Tasha asked.

He looked at her sheepishly. "You got me. That was my band, in college. Another of my pathetic attempts to get my dad to pay attention to me. We played the Rat one night-big-time club in Kenmore Square, we were so excited. I must have left twenty messages on his machine, begging him to come and see us play. But when we took the stage that night, he wasn't there. Never got any of my messages."

"That must have been devastating."

"Eh. My fault for thinking he'd change. That he'd actually take an interest in something I did, for once. And then I thought, if I could just be famous, become a big rock star and play in the humongous arenas, maybe then he'd have to notice. So I pushed the guys harder, and harder, and one day they pushed back. End of band. And before I could think of another Great Idea to Get Dad's Attention, he died. And that was the end of that."

"That is the saddest thing I ever heard," said Bruce. "How much of that is actually true?"

Tony gave him a wounded look. "You think I would make up something like this, for your sympathy?"

"Yes," said Natasha.

"All right, you got me: we never played the Rat. Always wanted to, though."

"And that's the only part of your story that isn't true?"

"That's it. The part about all the messages on his machine, that was another show, but he didn't come to that one, either. Kinda ticked me off, after a while."

"What did you play?" Bruce wanted to know.

"Mostly Aerosmith covers. Some Def Leppard, some Whitesnake-that song with the girl doing cartwheels over the hood of the car, remember that video? But mostly Aerosmith, cause that's what people wanted to hear."

"How about 'Dude Looks Like a Lady'?" he asked, reading off the tape label.

"Only if you guys don't mind singing backup."

"Just don't let your ego get in the way," said Natasha, a smirk on her lips.

"Never! Nothing's breaking up **this **band," Tony insisted.

It was a funny thing about this secret, Bruce thought: the more people who shared it, the greater it became. Instead of losing its power, it gained more.


End file.
